with a muttered curse. He had
stared into the muzzle of a heavy six-shooter.

He moved his hand as though to throw his memorandum pad on the desk, but
instantly a stern voice ordered him to desist and the threatening
revolver came closer.

"Jest stay right thar, pard." The words were spoken in an exaggerated
Western drawl. "My barker's mighty light in the trigger. I guess it
don't take a hundred-weight to loose it. And I don't cotton to mucking
up this floor with yer vitals."

Lablache remained still. He saw before him the tall thin figure of a
half-breed. He had black lank hair which hung loosely down almost on to
his shoulders. His face was the color of mud, and he was possessed of a
pair of keen gray eyes and a thin-hooked nose. His face wore a lofty
look of command, and was stamped by an expression of the unmost
resolution. He spoke easily and showed not the smallest haste.

"Guess we ain't met before, boss--not familiar-like, leastways. My
name's Retief--Peter Retief, an' I take it yours is Lablache. Now I've
jest come right along to do biz with you--how does that fit your
bowels?"

The compelling ring of metal faced the astonished money-lender. For the
moment he remained speechless.

"Wal?" drawled the other, with elaborate significance.

Lablache struggled for words. His astonishment--dismay made the effort a
difficult one.

"You've got the drop on me you--you damned scoundrel," he at last burst
out, his face for the moment purpling with rage. "I'm forced to listen
to you now," he went on more gutturally, as the paroxysm having found
vent began to pass, "but watch yourself that you make no bad reckoning,
or you'll regret this business until the rope's round your neck. You'll
get nothing out of me--but what you take. Now then, be sharp. What are
you going to do?"

The half-breed grinned.

"You're mighty raw oh the hide jest now, I guess. But see hyar, my
reckonin's are nigh as slick as yours. An' jest slant yer tongue some.
'Damned scoundrel' sliden' from yer flannel face is like a coyote
roundin' on a timber wolf, an' a coyote ain't as low down as a skunk. I
opine I want a deal from you," Retief went on, with a hollow laugh, "and
wot I want I mostly git, in these parts."

Lablache was no coward. And even now he had not the smallest fear for
his life. But the thought of being bluffed by the very man he was
willing to pay so much for the capture of riled him almost beyond
endurance. The Breed noted t